Worst Ceviche: New Orleans
Today I had the absolute worst ceviche I've ever eaten. Ever. I can still taste it. And it is not a good thing.
Ironically, it reminded me of something a Latin American restaurateur told me more than 30 years ago:
"The minute they start drawing on my plate, I walk away."
At the time I laughed, but his point stuck with me. Sometimes, in trying to make a dish more extraordinary, we lose what made it extraordinary in the first place.
For me, ceviche is deeply personal. I grew up eating it in Honduras and Guatemala, my granpa had a Shrimp exporting business and we would eat it almost daily as an appetizer in Honduras, when we moved to Guate it was at least weekly when we went to watch the soccer games with my dad, and later fell in love all over again with Peruvian ceviche when I lived in Miami, after being displaced post Katrina.
I consider myself a bit of a ceviche connoisseur. It's honestly one of those dishes that's hard to get wrong. And one I can't pass up when I see it on the menu. I like it mainly for it's simplicity. Fresh seafood. Bright lime. Salt. Pepper. Onion. Maybe a little cilantro. And served cold. That's the magic.
Today's plate? Absolutely beautiful. Gorgeous even.
The first bite? Warm fish with some kind of creamy sauce—I'm still not sure if it was mayonnaise, sour cream, or cream, but whatever it was, it simply didn't belong in a ceviche. It completely changed the character of the dish. The herbs... nothing I recognized.
This isn't about calling out a restaurant. Every chef has an off day. It's more of a reminder that not everything needs to be reinvented. Some dishes are already perfect because of their simplicity. The real joy is finding a place that respects that.
So now I need your recommendations...
New Orleans, where's the best ceviche in the city?
Tag your favorite spot below. I'm always willing to do the research.
With a second line in my step, wherever the rhythm carries me,
Karlita
Karla Marie “Karlita” Cochran
In the Spotlight 504 New Orleans
